


Two Minutes for Holding the Stick

by kim47



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:45:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kim47/pseuds/kim47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem is that, despite his neuroses, and despite how he goes out of his way to annoy and exasperate Merlin at every turn, Arthur is a great player, a fantastic captain, and Merlin likes him.</p><p>A lot.</p><p>It’s kind of a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Minutes for Holding the Stick

**Author's Note:**

> For marguerite_26's prompt: tent sharing/bed sharing + trying to be quiet while wanking so you don't wake the other person.
> 
> HOCKEY AU IDEK
> 
> (Any resemblance of Arthur to any actual hockey players is ~~totally deliberate~~ completely coincidental.)

Merlin and Arthur start rooming together on the road when Gwaine, who Merlin shared with from his rookie year, is traded to the Habs and Merlin pitches an epic sulk when they try to pair him with Will. He loves Will like a brother, he really does, but if they have to live in the same space, only one of them is coming out of that alive. 

Arthur rolls his eyes and sighs in exasperation when Merlin complains to him.

"Oh for the love of - Leon,” he calls across the locker room, “ _you_ can room with Will, and Merlin you're with me.” He glares at Merlin. “Happy?" 

His face brooks no argument, not that Merlin had any objections, so Merin had just shoots him a wide grin. Arthur rolled his eyes and went back to changing out of his gear.

*

Rooming with Arthur is...an experience. 

For one thing, he’s a total slob who _never stops complaining_ about how messy the room is.

“I am _not_ picking up your shit, Arthur!” Merlin yells at him, three days into the first roadtrip under the new arrangement. “I’m not your fucking servant, jesus christ.” 

Arthur smirks at him.

“No, but I’m your Captain, so - ” he begins, before Merlin cuts him off.

“So you get to tell me what to do on the ice, and on the ice _only_.” Merlin backs it up with a glare but Arthur just laughs, flopping back onto his bed. He takes particular joy in winding Merlin up, possibly because Merlin falls for it every single time.

“Oh, shut up,” he snaps, throwing his dirty boxers at Arthur’s face and stomping off to the bathroom.

Arthur is also incredibly pedantic about bedtime the night before a game. He sees no problem with getting up and snatch the remote off Merlin’s bed at 10:30 exactly, turning off the tv regardless of what Merlin is watching before leaning over to turn off his light. He even goes so far as to hide the remote and remove Merlin’s light bulb when Merlin first protests at this treatment.

Arthur is clearly insane.

The problem is that despite his neuroses, despite how he goes out of his way to annoy and exasperate Merlin at every turn, Arthur is a great player, a fantastic captain, and Merlin likes him. 

A lot. 

It’s kind of a problem. 

*

Merlin knows some of the guys get off together - jerking off together while watching porn, or while talking about the girls they pick up in bars. It’s an occupational hazard of having to spend so fucking much time together. He knows some of them even swap handjobs occasionally because a hand is a hand is a hand, it just feels better when it’s not your own. 

Hell, he never had a problem jerking off when Gwaine was his roommate. He did it in bed, when Gwaine was asleep or dozing off, quietly, but not cautiously. He certainly heard Gwaine rubbing one out more than once. It wasn’t...it wasn’t a _thing_.

With Arthur it is most definitely a thing.

After the second night of sharing a room with Arthur, pretending to be asleep while Arthur wanked, the sound of skin on skin and Arthur’s soft pants torturing Merlin until he’d very nearly rubbed himself off against the bed, Merlin started taking precautions.

The thought of jerking off with Arthur in the room makes his stomach squirm and his face flush. It feels dirty and wrong and weird, because he’s thinking about Arthur most of the time and it feels almost like he’d be molesting him.

So he jerks off every night in the shower, just before he goes to bed, fervently hoping that Arthur will use the time to take care of business as well so he doesn’t have to endure another performance. He’s given up pretending he doesn’t think about Arthur’s strong, thick thighs or his stupid crinkly smile or the curve of his jaw. Or his frankly ridiculous arse. God, the things Merlin would do to, with, and around that arse. 

He chokes back Arthur’s name when he comes.

It’s a good plan, in and of itself. It seems Arthur does wank when Merlin’s in the shower, because he’s not treated to another late night show, and one orgasm a night is usually his limit when he’s as tired as he often is when the team travels for away games.

The plan, however, fails to take into account Arthur’s...Arthurness.

*

Arthur likes to lounge around his hotel room in his boxers.

Specifically, his boxer briefs. Emphasis on brief. 

Merlin almost wants to ask if it’s too late to room with Will instead.

The first time he does it, Merlin chucks a shirt at him and tells him to stop being such a poser.

“I’m too hot for clothes,” Arthur informs him, which is patently ridiculous, since they have total control of the temperature of the room and also they’re in Winnipeg. In February. “Besides I like to be free.”

Merlin isn’t sure what that means, except that he should maybe be thanking the gods that Arthur isn’t lounging around naked. 

“Ugh, whatever, you’re gross,” he says instead, settling on his bed and putting his headphones on, pointedly ignoring Arthur for the rest of the night.

The other habit of Arthur’s that is driving Merlin to distraction is his propensity to exercise when he’s stressed. If he’s thinking about the game coming up, if he’s winding down from one they’ve just played, if he’s worrying that Lance’s knee isn’t healing quickly enough, he exercises. 

Which means Merlin often finds himself trying to relax while Arthur goes through a series of pushups, sit ups, planks, and crunches, usually in his underwear. It’s unbelievably hot to watch, or maybe it’s just Merlin, because Arthur is usually a little sweaty and a lot grumpy, letting out these ridiculous little grunts as he goes through his reps. 

“You’re going to strain something one day doing that, and you’ll blame me,” Merlin tells him, sitting on his bed with a pillow in his lap to hide any side effects of Arthur’s workout. He should just leave the room when Arthur does this, but he never does. 

“I’m not stupid, I know my body,” Arthur says. He does five more push ups and then stands. “But you’re right, if I did, I’d probably blame you.” 

“Oh, go and shower, you’re filthy.”

Arthur just smirks at him before he heads to the bathroom, but his eyes linger just a fraction on Merlin, his gaze a little hot, and Merlin has to turn away to hide his blush.

*

The thing is, sometimes Merlin wonders. 

He connects with Arthur on the ice like with no one he’s ever played with. He always knows exactly where Arthur is, without having to look, and Arthur has an unerring instinct for how Merlin is about to move. And there are times when they’re flying down the ice and his pass lands right on Arthur’s tape and Arthur smacks it in for a game winner and Merlin leaps into his arms, grinning like an idiot, and Arthur’s smile is wide and his arms are tight and Merlin _wonders_.

It happens in the locker room, too, when Arthur puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes and it somehow conveys _you did good, I’m proud of you, I think you’re amazing_ , or when he catches Arthur’s eye a few stalls over and Arthur’s looking at him with this weird mixture of pride, exasperation and affection on his face.

Or when they’re out with the rest of the team, and Arthur throws a casual arm around the back of Merlin’s chair and Merlin can’t resist leaning into him, just a little.

It’s driving him crazy. 

*

Merlin and a few of the guys had plans to go out after the game - a solid 4-0 shutout against the Blue Jackets - but none of them can really muster the energy. Instead they sit in the hotel bar, talking shit and chirping each other good-naturedly. People drift off slowly (Arthur leaving at ten, Merlin can’t help but notice, because he’s just that boring), until Merlin, Elyan and Percy are the only ones left at nearly twelve, and they decide it’s probably time to call it a night.

He’s only had a couple of drinks, so he’s feeling warm and relaxed rather than drunk when he heads up to his room. It’s probably good; Arthur gets preachy and annoying on the rare occasion that Merlin is drunk, never mind that Merlin’s never seen anyone drink anything approaching as much as Arthur did the night they lost the Stanley Cup finals. Although he supposes those count extenuating circumstances.

He slips into the room as quietly as he can, and sure enough, the lights are off and Arthur is in bed, asleep from the sound of his breathing. Merlin can’t be bothered to shower, and he doesn’t want to wake Arthur up, so he undresses quickly and slips into bed. 

Merlin’s mind is still a little too buzzed for him to sleep, and instead he replays the game in his mind, thinking about where they were good, what they did right, where they could have been better. Percy was a fucking wall in the goal tonight and Arthur...

Arthur was amazing. 

He’s so fast, it still sometimes takes Merlin’s breath away to watch him, and god, his _hands_. He replays Arthur’s second goal, off a fucking gorgeous wrist shot, and he’d crashed into a hug with Merlin afterwards, laughing and yelling and so fucking happy. Arthur’s so hot when he’s on, irresistable. He’s hot all the time, really, and before he even thinks about it, Merlin’s trailing his hand down his chest to press against his half-hard cock.

Shit, he shouldn’t do this, not when Arthur’s right there in the other bed, possibly not yet sound asleep. But he’s half hard just thinking about Arthur on the _ice_ , never mind the Arthur that he sees in here, half-naked and sweaty, grinning annoyingly at Merlin as he does sit ups and leaves his things everywhere and drives Merlin up the wall. 

Fuck.

Merlin gives up the pretence that he’s not going to do this, and starts to tease himself through his boxers, working himself up to full hardness. He wonders what Arthur likes, whether he likes to take his time, draw it out. He probably doesn’t have time to do that when they’re on the road, but what about back home? He has no trouble picturing Arthur spread out on his enormous bed in his apartment, hand around his cock, head thrown back against the deep red covers.

A moan slips out of him at that thought, and he quickly bites his lip and slows his hand. Arthur doesn’t stir, and after a heart-pounding few seconds, Merlin shoves his boxers down and takes his cock in hand.

Part of him wants to keep going slowly, indulge his fantasies like he so rarely allows himself to, but he can’t risk it. The sound of his hand sliding over his dick already feels too loud in the quiet room, even under the covers. He just needs to get off as quickly as possible. 

He speeds up his hand, twisting his wrist the way he likes it. It feels amazing, more potent than usual, like something in it heightened just by Arthur’s proximity. He’s starting to leak, precome smearing the head of his cock, and he spreads it with his thumb, breath catching as his fingers linger on the sensitive skin. He turns his head into his pillow, biting down on it to stifle his too-loud breathing.

Would Arthur’s mouth be as good as it is in Merlin's head? Probably not - Merlin’s never seen him with a guy, doubts he’s ever given a blowjob in his life. But Arthur’s so recklessly determined, so focused and dedicated, that Merlin thinks he’d catch on quickly, that he’d take Merlin into his mouth perfectly before long, sucking at the head the way Merlin likes, maybe even taking him into the back of his throat...

Merlin’s hand is flying now, thighs straining with the effort of keeping his hips from fucking up into his fist. The restraint he’s having to show, the effort of holding back his moans and stilling his hips, makes everything more intense. It turns him on more, if anything, but it’s also making it harder for him to come. He so badly wants to throw his covers off and plant his feet on the bed, to push into his hand and moan as loud as he likes, to babble Arthur’s name when he comes.

Something shifts in the atmosphere of the room, and Merlin is suddenly aware that Arthur’s breathing has changed. He takes his hand off his cock instantly, heart in his mouth, turning to look over at Arthur’s bed. 

Arthur looks asleep, flat on his back, but his breathing is too shallow, too fast - Merlin can hear it now that he’s holding his own. And, god, Merlin wonders if he’s imagining it, but Arthur’s hand is resting over his crotch, Merlin can see it under the sheet, not moving at all, but almost like he’s - 

Arthur’s hand shifts slightly, and yes, he’s definitely palming himself, pressing down on his cock in an effort to - what? The obvious answer makes Merlin feel a little dizzy, but he can’t know for sure, and he can’t exactly _ask_. 

“Merlin,” Arthur breathes, and his eyes are still shut but he’s definitely awake, and he moves his hand again and fuck, fuck, fuck. Merlin’s cock, which had started to soften in, well, abject terror, is rapidly hardening again. “Merlin, please.”

Merlin doesn't know what he’s asking for, what he wants, so he does the first thing that comes to mind, taking his cock back in hand, stroking himself a few times, still biting his lip. It’s unbelievable that this is happening, whatever this is, and the room feels close and heavy now, and the arousal is thrumming in his blood.

“Stop being quiet, you don’t have to - god, Merlin.” Arthur sounds frustrated and turned on; he’s stroking his dick properly now, the sheet falling back around his hand and fuck, that’s Arthur’s _cock_. “You’re so - ”

“Shit, _Arthur_ , I need - ” Merlin starts jerks himself faster, doesn’t bother to hold back the moans and hisses that fall so readily from his lips, desperate to come.

“Arthur, fuck, I’m going to - ”

“Yeah, c’mon, I want to hear it, Merlin, _please_.”

Arthur never says please, he never begs, but now he turns his head and opens his eyes, looking straight at Merlin, his expression desperate. 

Merlin comes, back arching, all over his stomach and chest and fuck, his _chin_. He strokes himself though it, shuddering at the aftershocks, and then he hears Arthur come too, and he’s definitely groaning Merlin’s name. 

*

Merlin always finds it difficult to function after an orgasm, let alone one as good as that. His ears are buzzing a little, and he feels soft and fuzzy around the edges, too relaxed even to think about what just happened. He hears a soft sound from the other bed, and Arthur climbing out of it. He must doze for a moment, because the next thing he registers is a damp cloth wiping his chest, and he opens his eyes to see Arthur looking down at him.

“Why am I not surprised good orgasms make you utterly useless?” he huffs, but he looks ridiculously fond. 

“Wasn’t that good,” Merlin mumbles. Arthur moves out of his line of sight, but Merlin’s certain he’s rolling his eyes. 

“It was fantastic,” Arthur tells him. He climbs into bed next to Merlin which, what. He doesn’t protest, though, and Arthur throws an arm over his stomach and Merlin resolves to save his freak out for tomorrow. “Imagine how much better it will be when I’m touching you.”


End file.
